


It's the third of October, you should come over

by fvartoxin



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: At least not here anyway. :), Crane's hapa but it doesn't change the fact that both him and Hugo aren't exactly white lol, Disabled Character of Color, Implied past medical abuse, M/M, Okay so it's more like 'if you squint there's medical abuse implied', Other, Past Relationship(s), Racebending, Southern Jonathan Crane, Trans Male Character, dark humor/black comedy as per my usual, implied sex, non-white Scarecrow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28620369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fvartoxin/pseuds/fvartoxin
Summary: RNG prompt generator said I must write CraneStrange apparently. So I just went "Yeah okay" and now here we are again.In the end they will have each other, and nothing but each other, for this is the way the world works out sometimes. Put them in a room together and force them to work, and I swear at this point they'll get nothing done and just start verbally dragging each other through the dirt. Frankly, I don't believe they can go longer than half an hour without taking potshots.
Relationships: Jonathan Crane/Hugo Strange
Kudos: 1





	It's the third of October, you should come over

“I’m too old to start this shit again. Think we both are.” It was scarcely more a set of sentences than it was a pant, breath being forced from ragged, weary lungs. 

“Yet, you continue to destroy yourself. How intriguing.” There was no malice in Hugo Strange’s tone, nothing of that sort; it was merely an observation. Several decades had passed since they’d last been in contact for this amount of time, and the man looked about the same as he always did. Grayer in what little hair he had remaining across the board, but given both his clear fondness for boxed dyes as well as that recurring stereotype that East Asian men never aged, it was hardly noticeable that he’d for once neglected to reapply the dye. Well, provided you weren’t up close. 

And, more than theoretically, laying on your on-again, off-again sexual partner and lab rat’s bedspread (naked apart from undergarments, despite the cold seeping into the room) counted as ‘close enough’. Even _if_ Jonathan happened to have poor color vision. Which, to be completely fair, he absolutely did. No doubt was to be had about that. There was a moment in which he distracted himself by looking off into some dusty corner of the burnt orange and brown-hued room, eyes eventually landing on the wrought iron and teak desk with empty medication bottles piled on it. “I’m not a rocket scientist, but even I can tell you it’s a little too late for anything else.” The native Southerner was beginning to slur his words, as he so often did when tired. “Just pointing that out.” 

“You hurtle towards the prospect of your own death like the pieces of the _Challenger_ shuttle hurtled towards the Atlantic Ocean in 1986,” he sniffed, rolling his eyes as he craned his neck to look up at the far too tall Scarecrow. “My only question is ‘Why’. Surely you’d have figured out by now that the universe _clearly_ does not intend for that to happen, despite your history of, to say the absolute least, poor choices.”

“In the event I’m immortal, which I’ll admit seems awful likely by this point, might as well try to entertain myself.” The sentence was flat, plain and devoid of emotion. Hugo would be getting nothing else in that department, likely. “Not to say I’ve become an adrenaline junkie. That’s stupid enough. A lack of fear doesn’t mean idiocy.” He then paused to stretch, the joints underneath his heavily scarred, ash wood-pale skin popping in a satisfactory manner. 

Hugo raised a brow, lips pursing. “In _your_ case? Certainly not.”

“Wasn’t done talking, and I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was an insult.”

“Figured as much,” he grunted in reply, and then continued. “Anyhow. Why seek out an adrenaline rush if It doesn’t even excite you? No point.” In his eyes, there wasn’t much of a point in most anything at all, but that was a tale for another time. “ _You_ might not ever feel boredom, Strange, but it’s one of those things I personally haven’t been able to shake. Sometimes, watching people go about their lives only does so much for me. And,” on the darker note they both seemed to be dancing around, “last I checked, you were the one who suggested some of the notations in my medical files. I may not have been accepted into MENSA, but I think I know when I’m being backed into a corner.” 

“I’ve implied nothing of the sort.” He was lying, not that there was any real reason for him to do so. Call it a force of habit, he supposed. “But I will admit you’ve always been right in that I bury myself in my work. There’s hardly time for wandering thoughts when you’re waist-deep in mountains of papers.”

Crane made an odd sort of rasping sound in the back of his throat. “And _this_ ,” he sneered, gesturing to them both with a long-nailed hand, “was never a wandering thought. Alrighty. I’ll believe that...as soon as I believe in your usual garden-variety things like flying cephalopods, us not experiencing racism, or that it ain’t actually Thursday and that all the calendar makers in the world have suddenly decided to conspire against my old man mind specifically.” 

“My decision was calculated,” he insisted, as he had time and time again; though in some cases less verbally. “And your connective tissue disorder was easily exploitable when it came to my work, as was the compulsive sexual behavior.” 

“ _Nei waan ngo aa_? How’d that end up working out for you, again? Other than unethically.” Not that either of them particularly cared about ethics, _per se_. “Last I checked that only amounted to a couple pounds of wasted biological material.” He took a few seconds to shift onto his side, the motion causing him to flop further down on the wrinkled bedsheets as he eased off of his bad hip. Still, he didn’t break Hugo’s gaze. 

“You know as well as I do that it was a temporary setback.” He didn’t blink as he returned the stare, but chose to rest his head against the worn headboard at his back. 

For the first time in (literal) years, one J.R. Crane broke into a fit of laughter. “I’m deaf; mostly. Not blind. Not yet, anyhow. Eventually, maybe…but that might just be a long time off. I know as well as you do that you spent around a year waiting. Revising those little plans of yours while my organs attempted to get themselves back to a semi-functional level. Wouldn’t exactly call that ‘temporary’.”

“It was a setback,” he repeated, then abruptly swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, searching for the pants he’d misplaced the night prior. “To change the subject so we don’t repeat ourselves _ad infinitum_ ,” now that he was on the other side of the room he spoke considerably louder, “the fact you’ve never changed your apartment locks simply astounds me. You live in one of the areas of Gotham City with the highest crime rate, and a thief would even see that wheelchair in the corner as valuable.” The preserved human specimens less so, but you couldn’t always get what you wanted in life. 

He was looking. Disrespectfully; his lower jaw clenched. “Bromine in the eyes usually takes care of that for me, even diluted. Other than that, I ever tell you I sold Granny’s jewelry years back? Not much out there to grab apart from cat toys, heavy furniture, and half-empty bottles of spices.” 

“Now I’m unsure if it’s your overworked heart or hubris that’ll kill you first.” Soon finding his pants, he wasted no time in putting them on. 

“My money’s always been on the heart, personally,” he quipped, flashing teeth as he grinned in a mirthless fashion. “Now, you mind helping me up? Still can’t walk far.”

**Author's Note:**

> As for what Scarecrow's said in Cantonese there, it really just translates to how "are you fucking kidding me?" would in English. Same tonal notes. Also, the title of this is from the Marianas Trench song Dearly Departed.


End file.
